


Snapshots

by amy_vic



Category: NCIS
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Post-Twilight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-09
Updated: 2010-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amy_vic/pseuds/amy_vic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's done this once before. It doesn't get easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots

He returns home just after midnight, and finds her sitting in the living room, a cigarette in one hand, and a beer bottle next to the other. There's light filtering in through the window, and makes her skin look like it's glowing.

"Hey."

She flicks ash into the glass ashtray. Some of it lands on the coffee table, but she doesn't notice, and he doesn't bother wiping it away.

"What took you so long?"

He sits down on the couch and watches as she smokes. "I had things to take care of."

"Yeah, I bet you did. Is he dead?"

"Do you really care?" Inhale, exhale, and he's still watching her. _When the hell did she start smoking?_

She shakes her head while raising the bottle to her lips. "Nope. I'll find out soon enough."

He blinks then, and she's gone.

He wakes up the next morning with blood still on his hands, and ash on the table.  
  


*****  
  


She returns the next night. He comes out from the kitchen and finds her stretched out on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. He hadn't expected her to show up, but it doesn't surprise him that she did. He leans against the wall and stares at her until she speaks.

"Are you ever going to finish that boat in your basement?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Someday, I will."

"It's just something to keep you busy, isn't it? You'll never launch it. Hell, it'll probably never see sunlight."

He wants to tell her she's right. Instead, he just shrugs, and watches as she turns a silver lighter over in her hands. "Why are you here?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No."

She smiles, and turns her head so she's looking directly into his eyes. "Then it really doesn't matter why I'm here, does it?"

"No, I guess not."

"Okay, then."

"You, ah, want a drink?"

"Sure."

He pours scotch into two glasses, and sets hers on the table next to her hand. They don't speak while they drink; she continues staring at the ceiling, and he watches the light from the window play over her face.

When his glass is empty, he sets it down. "Listen, I've got an early morning, so..."

"Of course, go."

He turns toward the doorway, and she pulls a cigarette from the battered pack in her pocket. When he hears the lighter snap shut, he stops but doesn't face her. "When did you start smoking?"

"A while ago. I don't remember, really."

"Oh."  
  


*****  
  


After three weeks, they have begun to settle into a routine. She shows up late at night, they drink, she smokes, and he watches. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't, and he is comfortable with both.

"This has to end soon, you know that, right?" She says it easily (too easily) one night.

He stares at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Me." She gestures without setting down her cigarette, and smoke swirls around her like a cloud. "Here, like this. I can't stay."

He checks his watch. "But it's only...well, it's late, but it isn't that late."

She shakes her head. "No, I'm not talking about that. I mean that I have another place that I think I'm supposed to be."

"Don't go. Please."

"I'm sorry."

He throws his glass against the wall and it shatters, leaving a trail of liquid and glass snaking its way down to the floor.

When he looks away from it, she's gone.


End file.
